Dancing And Delirium
by Serendipity1
Summary: The school throws a costume party, with the prize for the best costume being a set of exodia cards. Well, just how far do you think Yugi and the gang will go to get them? (OLD STORY. Permanently discontinued.)
1. Ninja Stars, Plans, And Coffee

Somewhere, floating in the depths of space, there is a table. Yes, a table. It is a stately, mahogany   
table, polished so that it shines with a glow that before was only seen on pearls. There it floats,   
drifting amongst the stars. And next to it, there resides an ottoman. And besides the ottoman, a tea   
set.   
  
These phenomena, however, having absolutely nothing to do with the story, shall not be   
discussed further.  
  
Now, interestingly enough, inside of the house of one Yugi Motou, there is a table that is an   
exact twin of the aforementioned space table. This does have to do with the story, because it was   
at this table that all the trouble began.  
  
It started as a perfectly normal day. Yami, the ancient spirit residing in Yugi's millennium   
pendant, which, by the way, has special powers and also doubles as a puzzle if you get bored, got   
up and looked out the window.   
  
"This," he stated, "Begins a new day. For I shall expand my empire beyond the limits of man.   
Yes, I shall…"  
  
However, he was not able to finish his wordy and grandiose speech, for Yugi woke up   
immediately afterwards and kicked Yami into the soul room, where he proceeded to pout and do   
unnatural things to embalming jars.  
  
Yugi kicked the blankets off of his legs, stood up, and narrowly missed being hit by a ninja star   
aimed for his head. It shot through the window, scattering glass all over the floor, and then   
thudded into the closet wall, pinning a pink, scented piece of paper neatly to the football-  
patterned wallpaper.  
  
"Darn it," muttered Yugi, "I just redid my closet after that cherry bomb incident." He made his   
way across his room, carefully sidestepping the broken glass, and pulled the ninja star and the   
note out of the wall.   
  
"Dear Yugi," he read, laying the star down next to the arrow, the dagger, the mace, and oddly   
enough, the rubber ducky that had been used as projectiles of death, "I will soon take possession   
of you Millennium Puzzle, and then will take over the world. Ha. Mwahahaha. Ha. Love, Yami   
Bakura."  
  
There passed a silence, in which Yugi thought about whether it would be easier to just let Yami   
Bakura have the bloody puzzle, or if his hairstyle really was weird, and also if he should have   
toast or pancakes for breakfast. For Yugi, as you know, was a very deep kid.  
  
Finally, he crumpled the paper in one hand, and attached it to a random piece of furniture. "Yami   
Bakura is *so* paying for my new wallpaper," he growled, then headed down the stairs to get   
something to eat.   
  
Ah, yes. A perfectly normal morning.  
  
But elsewhere, even as Yugi trudged down the stairs to his paradoxical table, the forces of   
Darkness, Chaos, and Evil gathered. Their ultimate goal had been envisioned. They had all the   
resources necessary to implement it. The world, as everyone knew it, was about to come to an   
abrupt and violent end. Yes, they were planning…  
  
A school dance.  
  
In the school auditorium, there gathered the hooded figures of the student council. There, they   
began to hatch their sinister plot.  
  
"I say we make it have a 60's theme."  
  
"No, how about Under The Sea?"  
  
"Everyone does Under The Sea!"  
  
"You're just upset because we wouldn't let you do the Torture Chamber theme!"  
  
"But I could come up with plenty of fake blood! And those instruments of torture and pain in my   
mom's cellar are going to waste!"  
  
"I don't care! That's just plain disgusting."  
  
The members of the student council began to argue about whether or not pink was a suitable color   
for men's shirts, and if the dance was to contain those little fondue things everyone liked, and   
about shoes and ships and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings…  
  
Well, their conversations branched out into many different tangents, as conversations are liable to   
do, if you continue them for some time.  
  
They were just discussing the best way to eat a Reese's, (Incidentally, the best way to eat a   
Reese's is to smash it into little pieces, then pour it into strawberry milk.), when the leader of the   
sordid little group finally realized , 'Oh bloody hell, it's past noon and we haven't decided on   
anything.'   
  
Which, of course, was unfair and untrue, as they had decided, in just the past five minutes, that   
blue was a suitable color for men's underwear to be.  
  
He stood up on his seat, waved his hands in the air, and signaled for quiet. This doesn't work, by   
the way, unless if you're in a mime convention. Anywhere else, you have to yell 'QUIET!' at the   
top of your lungs and send a chair crashing to the floor.   
  
The gym was plunged into silence.  
  
"We will have…a costume party!" announced the student council president, in the same tone one   
would say 'a tournament.'  
  
The rest of the student council gasped simultaneously.  
  
"With prizes!" declared the president, blatantly proud of his new idea. He was a man of little   
imagination, and for him, this was genius-level thinking.  
  
"And dancing?" asked one of the members. She was stupid.  
  
"Yes!" roared the president. "And it will be the best school dance…in all the land!"  
  
Everyone cheered so loud that the janitor felt forced to put the sprinkler system on to shut them   
up.  
  
And so it came to pass that the school dance was to be scheduled on that Friday. Flyers were sent   
out to everyone who went to that school, and some people who didn't go to that school, and even   
some people who weren't even from the same country. And one of these flyers ended up on the   
table in Yugi's kitchen.  
  
May the good times roll.  
  
Not that Yugi was in a state of consciousness that early in the morning, anyway. Having brushed   
his teeth with a hair brush, put together an interesting outfit that consisted of a pair of baggy   
flannel pants with ducks on them, a tight black leather vest, and a choker with a shamrock on it   
that said 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish!', fell down the short flight of stairs to the kitchen, and tried to eat a   
washcloth, he had finally pieced together enough of his mind to be able to make some toast.  
  
And then, right on cue, Joey Wheeler opened the door and stepped through the threshold of the   
house without knocking. Of *course*, he doesn't need to knock. Like those kids on Leave It To   
Beaver don't need to knock, they just pop up randomly in the house, like roaches.  
  
So, Joey, being the special person that he is, had been fully conscious in the morning, and was   
perfectly able to string sentences together without the need of caffeine.  
  
Don't you just hate people like that?  
  
Anyway, being perfectly conscious, he was also capable of finding the flyer broadcasting the   
news of the school dance, and formulate…a Plan.  
  
And plan in mind, flyer firmly grasped in one hand, he made his way across the kitchen, to where   
Yugi was seated at the table, gnawing on a piece of burnt toast.  
  
"Hey, Yugi", he said, holding up the flyer, "I found this on my table this morning."  
  
"YOUR TABLE?" roared Yugi, spitting out the toast, " I suppose just because it was on *your*   
table you think you're special, don't you? DON'T YOU? Well, I have a table and a flyer too,   
Joey! I don't have to take this!" He glared furiously at Joey.  
  
"Well, I didn't mean…" started Joey, a bit confused.  
  
"Of course you didn't mean it. No one ever means anything! Well, I'm sick and tired of being   
treated like a doormat! What about ME, Joey? ME!"  
  
Yugi's grandfather came into the kitchen just then, holding a mug. "Here, Yugi, I made you your   
coffee."  
  
Yugi grabbed the coffee cup and guzzled it down, then slammed the mug on the table, where it   
left an unsightly ring on the wood. He blinked disorientedly, looking around the kitchen. Finally   
his eyes settled on Joey.  
  
"Oh, hello Joey," he said calmly. "When did you come in?"  
  
"Um…" Joey blinked, then decided to erase the past few minutes from his mind. "I found this on   
my table," he started again, gesturing to the flyer. When Yugi showed no signs of boiling over in   
a fit of unsurpassable rage, he continued. "It's…um…it says that a school dance is scheduled   
soon."  
  
Yugi nodded and took a bite out of his blackened toast.  
  
"The dance is going to be a costume party, and there are prizes for the most original costume, the   
best made costume, etc."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said there are prizes for-"  
  
"I mean the 'etcetera' part. What's that mean?"  
  
"Um…it's like…it means…" he scratched his head. "It's like, when you have a list of words, you   
see? And then there's this other word, and it goes with the other words, and you're too lazy to   
finish the list of words, so you nail this 'etc.' word in there." He nodded.  
  
"Mmhm." Said Yugi skeptically.  
  
"Yeah." Finished Joey.  
  
The two looked at each other as the eggs that had since lain forgotten, unannounced, and un-  
written-about sizzled and burned in their skillet.  
  
Elsewhere, in Ryou's house, similar goings-on were occurring.   
  
"Yami"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You stole my body again this morning, didn't you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You took my body and used it for evil means, didn't you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You used it when I was sleeping and threatened Yugi with a note."  
  
"No."  
  
"I have grass stains on my pajama bottoms."  
  
"Maybe you sleepwalk."  
  
"You stole it."  
  
"No."  
  
"You took my body."  
  
"I didn't."  
  
"You did."  
  
"No."  
  
"I have evidence in the hidden cameras."  
  
"Flaws in the tape."  
  
"I know you took my body this morning."  
  
"No."  
  
"You took it."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Ha! I *knew* you did!" Ryou stood on his chair, dramatically lifting his arms in the air, "WHY   
do you have to go and threaten Yugi with some sort of pointy object or evil scheme every single   
day? Can't you act like a normal person for once? Why can't you…"  
  
And so he went on, for at least half an hour, until the piece of paper caught his eye. He blinked.   
Then he fell off his chair. For the evil powers of the paper were so strong, that even from that   
distance, the curse of it could affect you.  
  
Either that, or he was just clumsy.  
  
Pulling himself upright, he stared at the piece of paper that had caught his eye.   
  
"School…dance? Costume party?" He read inquisitively.  
  
"Who'd come up with such an idiotic idea?" muttered Yami Bakura.  
  
In the depths of the school cafeteria, the president of the student council sneezed.  
  
Meanwhile, in Yugi's kitchen, the Plan was being unfolded.  
  
"So," said Joey, "The prize for the best costume is a complete set of exodia cards."   
  
Yugi snored, his head hitting the table with a loud 'thump', landing in his plate.   
  
"YUGI!" roared Joey.  
  
Yugi shot straight upward. "Ride horsey! The Scarlet Avenger never fails!" He snorted and   
picked some pieces of toast from his hair, then blinked and looked at Joey. "Oh, hello Joey. Have   
you been here long?"  
  
Joey shoved the flyer in Yugi's face. "OUR SCHOOL IS HAVING A COSTUME PARTY! THE   
PRIZE FOR THE BEST COSTUME IS THE EXODIA CARDS! I HAVE A MASTER   
SCHEME TO WIN THE CARDS! ARE YOU NOT EXCITED?"  
  
"Oh!" exclaimed Yugi. "Why didn't you say so to begin with?"  
  
Joey fell off the chair, which was lucky, because at that moment yet another ninja star shot   
through the kitchen window and embedded itself in the kitchen calendar, attaching yet another   
piece of scented stationary to the wall.  
  
Yugi leaned out of the now-empty window frame to see Yami Bakura biking away, laughing   
maniacally. He shook his fist in the air. "Darn you and your property-damaging tendencies!   
DARN YOUUUUUU!"  
  
Joey plucked the ninja star and the note from the wall and proceeded to read. "Dear Yugi," he   
read aloud, "I will enter this 'costume party', and I will win the exodia cards, and then I shall win   
the next duel we have, and steal your millennium item! Mwah! Mwahahaha! Ha! Love, Yami   
Bakura."  
  
He turned to Yugi, who was still leaning out of the window. "What *is* wrong with that guy?   
Um…Yugi? Yugi?"  
  
Yugi was suddenly surrounded by a brilliant light, and grew about two feet taller while a bunch of   
disembodied voices chanted in the background.  
  
"Ham." Muttered Joey.  
  
"Shut up." Growled Yami. "Now where was I? Ah yes. I will not let him get away with this…"   
With that, he looked dramatically off in the background.  
  
Joey sighed and sat down at the table. This was going to be a long day. 


	2. Dimensional Black Holes

Through all known history, which is what they teach you in school, and even unknown history,   
which is the truth and what you learn when you are finished with the education system, there have   
been men and women with plans. And then, there have been men and women with Plans.  
  
The difference between the two is simple. A plan is simple, methodical, and precise. It states   
mathematically and scientifically what the outcome will be and how it will come to be. Usually   
plans succeed. Unless, of course, if you are a blatantly evil villain on a children's show. Then   
you are doomed, no matter how well thought out your plan was. This is the rule of Divine   
Justice. It states simply that good will win, no matter what the cost is.  
  
Several villains have fought with this rule, but have failed miserably in the attempt.  
  
Now, Plans are something else entirely. A Plan is large, colossal. It, by rule, has to affect the   
entire world, and it must do so in a flashy, dramatic way. Plans are bold. They stand out like neon   
signs amongst the crowds of dull ideas and thoughts. They involve Grand Destinies,   
Apocalypses, Smiting of Evil, Large Creatures, and Eternal Love, sometimes all at the same time.   
Most people strive for Plans, but wind up with only plans. People like this have absolutely no   
imagination whatsoever.  
  
Our dear friend, Joey Wheeler, started out with a simple plan. But elsewhere in the cosmos, Fate   
had another idea entirely.   
  
Of course, Fate is known as a very fickle deity, and she's also known to have a few drinks…a   
few gallons…well, a few oceans of alcoholic beverages of all sorts. But, compared to Mother   
Nature, she's a relatively docile goddess.  
  
Of course, she does have her moods.  
  
And on this day, Fate had drunk the equivalent of the Pacific Ocean's worth of cherry brandy.   
And the key word in this sentence is drunk.  
  
Anyway, suitably sloshed, she decided to take a little peek down at the mortal world, and there   
her eye fell upon the forms of Yugi Motou and Joey Wheeler, discussing plans for the costume   
party. Shifting her gaze, she saw the many other …interesting characters planning for the party,   
and in her mind, she formed a scheme.  
  
The Other World is boring sometimes and she was drunk. We all know how this will turn out,   
don't we?  
  
Now elsewhere, down on our humble little planet, Yugi, who had finally regained his body after   
Yami had locked him in his soul room with a plush moose, and Joey, who was still desperately   
trying to tell Yugi about his plan before he forgot it, were arguing about costumes.  
  
The general opinion was that the Dark Magician and Dark Magician Girl were not a good choice   
in costumes, as neither of them wanted to be the girl.   
  
"That was your master plan?" yelled Yugi, waving his arms for emphasis. Unfortunately, while   
he was waving so enthusiastically, he knocked the juice pitcher off the table. This has an   
important moral, but I won't tell it to you.  
  
"It sounded much better last night," exclaimed Joey, defensively. He scratched his head   
thoughtfully. "But, then again, so did that idea of making a cheese grater out of a tin can."  
  
Yugi blinked at him. "Right."  
  
"But…the basic *idea* is good, right? I mean, going to the costume party and winning the cards."  
  
"Well…yes. Yes, that part's great. However, your choice in costumes stink."  
  
"Well, why don't YOU try to do better?"  
  
"Oh don't look at me, you're the one with the plan!' yelled Yugi, inadvertently quoting from   
Road To El Dorado.   
  
At this time, more students had begun to wake up and find the flyers that had mysteriously   
popped into existence on their tables. Some of them came up with plans of their own. Some of   
them dismissed the flyers as a proclamation of yet another stupid school-funded activity. Many of   
them spilled orange juice on them.  
  
But one student took a look at his table and uttered a single sentence. Deep and insightful in it's   
own way, it reveals the very core of humanity. It is the one question we all ask at some time in   
our lives.  
  
"Where the hell is my coffee?"  
  
Seto Kaiba, genius, millionaire, professional arrogant jerk, and most definitely not a morning   
person. In fact, 'not a morning person' is a gross understatement. But morning person or no, he   
still had to wake up like the rest of it, poor fool.   
  
Tramping across the kitchen, adjusting his gravity-defying trench coat that he wore absolutely   
everywhere, possibly even to bed, he scanned the top of the table for his caffeine. Finding none,   
he whirled around and stomped over to the coffee maker, muttering to himself about how hard   
good help is to find these days.  
  
He had conveniently forgotten that he'd given the whole staff the day off, not because he was in   
a good mood, but because he had been forced to by the strange and omnipotent power known as   
'plot contrivance'.   
  
And so, oblivious of his helpless state, ooh, a pun, he set to making himself his coffee, which   
was a special brand not found anywhere else in the US or Canada, as it is actually illegal in seven   
countries and half a state. He got it specially imported from some nameless Spanish-speaking   
country, and did not believe for one minute that the coffee makers injected concentrated caffeine   
in the coffee beans used to make it.  
  
Pouring himself a cup, he turned around…  
  
And was nearly hit by a ninja star shooting through his window.   
  
It hit the refrigerator, bounced off of it, shot past Mokuba, who was just coming in, and thudded   
into the wall opposite of the oven, pinning a piece of Yami Bakura's very own scented paper to   
the wall, along with a piece of Mokuba's pajamas.  
  
Seto blinked, and allowed this information to pass through his head.  
  
Mokuba muttered something about how there was a stupid attempt at their lives, every stupid   
morning and that he was tired of it, darnit, and shuffled out of the kitchen, taking a large box of   
cereal that was ¾ sugar and ¼ cardboard.  
  
The door swung shut and Seto's mind gave a jump start. "What the HELL?' he yelled, and strode   
across the kitchen, cursing under his breath those who dared to come between him and his   
morning cup of coffee.  
  
Yanking the ninja star out of the wall, he unfolded the note and glared at it. There, in the neat,   
flowing writing of a poet, it read: " Dear Kaiba, I am going to win the contest and take over the   
world. Just thought you should know. Mwahahaha. Love, Yami Bakura."  
  
The universe tilted for a minute, then went back to normal.  
  
"Yami Bakura is *so* paying for my new wallpaper," muttered Seto, then tramped over to his   
table to drink his coffee.   
  
And back at the Motou house, plans for costumes were being set.  
  
"Maybe we can go as Red Eyes Black Dragon and Blue Eyes White Dragon!" Joey suggested,   
looking at the pages of a costume book. His plan of going as Celtic Warrior and Mystical Elf had   
also been rejected, because, as Yugi pointed out, jelly beans do not come in lavender.   
  
This had nothing to do with anything, but it was a very convincing argument, because it was true.  
  
"That sounds like a good idea.' Said Yugi, glancing up from his book, 'But how are we going to   
get the costumes finished by Friday?"  
  
"Erm," replied Joey intelligently.  
  
"Can you sew, Joey?"  
  
"Uh…"  
  
"Because I can't."  
  
"Um…"  
  
"And neither can my grandpa."  
  
"Ah…"  
  
"Right."  
  
"I can sew!" declared Tea, who also didn't have to knock, since she was special and one of the   
main characters.  
  
A wise man whose name I don't recall at the moment once stated that there is a black hole that is   
directly attached to one's shadow, and if you are not careful, you may fall into it and wind up   
somewhere where the people speak funny and wear the skins of dead animals. I didn't pay   
attention to the warning and I wound up in the country club at high tea. Fortunately I got out alive   
by pretending to be a caddy.  
  
Now some people know of these holes and have developed a way to use them as some sort of   
mode of transportation by linking them to another person's black hole, allowing them to pop up   
behind someone, usually at the most inopportune times. This is a skill widely known by parents,   
annoying people, and teachers everywhere.  
  
And of course, Tea.  
  
Yugi and Joey both jumped in their seats, knocking over the costume books they had been   
looking through.  
  
"Tea!" yelled Joey, "Don't DO that!"  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Pop up out of nowhere like that!"  
  
"Like this?"  
  
Tea suddenly popped up behind Joey.  
  
"Yes!" he yelled, sounding almost hysterical. "THAT!"  
  
"Okay." She then popped right back up behind Yugi, and looked down at the page of the costume   
book he had been looking at, ignoring Joey who was busy processing the paradox, while   
muttering 'Logic…no logic!'  
  
"You're going as Duel Monster cards?"  
  
"Yes…"  
  
"…Yugi."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Have you any idea how many people are probably going as Duel Monster cards?"  
  
"Um…no."  
  
"Either an awful lot, or hardly any at all. If there's a lot, you won't win the prize. If there's hardly   
any at all…it will be very embarrassing for you to show up dressed as…" she trailed off.  
  
"Blue Eyes White Dragon and Red Eyes Black Dragon." He prompted.  
  
"Right. As a friend, I'd advise you not to."  
  
"Why as a friend?"  
  
"Because friends don't let friends…go to parties dressed as Duel Monster cards."  
  
Silence fell down between them, and then went off muttering about how people should be more   
careful with their banana peels.  
  
"Alright, so I just wanted to stick friendship in their somewhere." Tea confessed. 'Is that so   
wrong? Don't answer that. It was strictly rhetorical."  
  
Joey managed to pull his mind together and resume looking at the costumes. " Well what would   
*you* suggest?"  
  
"Something with plenty of black leather, but that's just me."  
  
Yugi decided to not ask her to elaborate on that.  
  
Meanwhile, on Yami Bakura's bike…  
  
"Yami?"  
  
There was no reply from the spirit of the Millennium ring, who seemed bent on fulfilling his odd   
mission of delivering messages to everyone via ninja star express.  
  
"Yami, I know that you've been feeling edgy lately, but that's no reason to go around throwing   
ninja stars at people and finding costumes for your evil scheme."  
  
"Ryou," Yami Bakura muttered, "You wouldn't know an evil scheme if it came up to you dressed   
up like Mimi from the Drew Carey show, waved flags in front of your face, and danced the   
Macarena while singing 'evil schemes are here again'."   
  
"Alright, that's just rude."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Case in point."  
  
"Didn't I just tell you…"  
  
"And you're using my body for evil means again. Did you know I just had this bike fixed?"  
  
"Look, I'm driving this thing, and if I really wanted to, I could drive it off a cliff or into an   
incoming truck."  
  
"You wouldn't."  
  
"I'm a spirit in a nifty-looking ring. Someone's sure to pick the ring up, and I'll get their body.   
It's not like there aren't enough bodies to spare. You, unfortunately, will remain very dead."  
  
"I hate you."  
  
"Don't think I don't appreciate it."  
  
"Where are you going, anyway?"  
  
"To see a man about a costume."  
  
"Why are you gripping that ninja star like that?"  
  
"I've got plans," replied Yami Bakura darkly.  
  
At exactly 12:00 am, a ninja star crashed through the window of one, Maximillion Pegasus.   
Attached to it was a scented piece of paper with a note that read: 'Dear Pegasus, Evil plans are   
brewing, and you suck. Love, Yami Bakura.'  
  
This was followed by a dozen of the notes folded into paper airplanes and bearing the words 'Ha   
ha', across their sides. Pegasus crumpled the not in his hand.   
  
"Yami Bakura is *so* paying for my new wallpaper," he muttered blackly, then headed for his   
kitchen to get some fruit juice.  
  
Across his front lawn, there wandered a man with a suit. He held his cell phone up to his mouth.  
  
"Can you hear me now?" 


	3. Godly Meetings And Pure Chaos

One must understand that humans are stupid. Consider the pufferfish. It a small fish covered all   
over with spikes that simply ooze poison, and it has the ability to balloon to twice it's size. Now,   
if you were to walk along and look at it, logically, you'd think something along the lines of   
"Weird," or "What the hell is that?"  
  
But logic has no place in everyday life. Somewhere, someone looked at the pufferfish and   
thought. "Gee. That looks tasty." We may only hope that he was drunk.  
  
But that's not all. You see, there is but one bit in the whole pufferfish that is not poisonous.   
Imagine how much fun they had trying this out.   
  
"Tail? Did you eat the tail?"  
  
"Yes…urk."  
  
"Alright, scratch the tail. Orange spongy bit?"  
  
"ARGH! GAH! GAAAaaaaah…."  
  
"Hm. Not that either."  
  
So yes, humans are stupid. Let us keep this fact in mind as the story continues.   
  
For one thing, an intelligent person wouldn't go to so much trouble simply to get a few pieces of   
paper with pictures on them. And no intelligent person would treasure them so much as to buy   
them for hundreds of dollars. And they certainly wouldn't dress up like a chicken to get them.  
  
Going by this, it is safe to say that the entire student body might very well be the least intelligent   
people in the world. And number one on the list of stupid was currently in his living room, poring   
over a book of costume designs.  
  
"So you say you can sew anything in this book?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What do you mean, yes? There was a question mark. I *heard* a question mark."  
  
"Define 'sew'."  
  
"We're in trouble, aren't we?"  
  
"Um…no?"  
  
"There goes that bloody question mark again!"  
  
Tea scowled. "Well, look, I'm only in Fashion Design 1 right now. We're learning how to make   
t-shirts, for god's sake."  
  
"You said you could sew!"  
  
"You'll notice I didn't say I could sew well."  
  
"Could we take a lunch break?"   
  
"No, Joey." Said Yugi, thoroughly intent on his task. "Do you mean to say," he asked Tea, trying   
to remain calm, "That we can choose any costume we want…as long as it consists of a t-shirt and   
jeans?"  
  
"I could possibly do a pair of socks."  
  
Yugi lapsed into silence.  
  
"We could tie-dye the socks," suggested Joey, "And go as hippies. I could find some bandannas   
and tie dye those too. And then-"  
  
"Joey?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Well, what if we go to a thrift store and buy a whole bunch of random garbage and put it all   
together and claim that we're gypsies?" Suggested Tea.  
  
"Oh, that's hardly original. Pop stars do it every day." Joey turned to Yugi. "Any ideas?"  
  
Yugi blinked. "Well, we could go as-" He paused. "Wait, Yami's telling me something."  
  
"Can he wait?"  
  
"I can't just put him on hold! It's not like call waiting! You can't tell a voice in your head not to   
stop talking…and darn it slow down, I can't understand you! What? What do you mean, a note?   
A PINK note? How the hell did Yami Bakura get in your spirit room?"  
  
Yami Bakura snickered to himself as he shut down the transdimensional shifter machine. It was   
also called a 'Whatchamacallit', or even, in special cases, a 'bloody piece of trash.' But whatever   
it was, it was darned useful. "Seventy to go," he whispered to himself and slipped quietly into the   
shadows…an effect that was somehow ruined by the stray bits of pink scented paper trailing   
behind him.  
  
Yami stared at his spirit room, his eye twitching. Pink notes surrounded every surface that could   
be taped, nailed, or tacked onto. On every individual note there was a different insult.  
  
"Yami Bakura is *so* paying for my wallpaper…'  
  
Meanwhile, in the heavens, The Almighty And Unnamed God was holding a conference. To save   
paper space, we'll just call him Almighty. Interestingly enough, the meeting was being held on   
the aforementioned space table.  
  
It was three-o-clock on Earth. There is no time in the heavens. This makes business meetings   
very interesting, as no one can actually say if the meeting was long or short.   
  
Almighty was beginning to wonder why there were so darned many higher beings. He looked   
impatiently around the universe, which was actually getting very crowded with the number of   
gods and demons squeezing through. Clearing his throat, he shuffled a few papers on his desk.   
"Shall we begin with this meeting?"  
  
Around the giant mahogany table, immortals of all varieties chatted, bickered, or muttered curses   
under their breath. None of them seemed to have heard him.  
  
He cleared his throat, causing a monsoon in an obscure country.  
  
The divine assembly didn't even turn their heads in acknowledgement.   
  
Almighty felt his impatience getting the best of him. He rose from his place and pounded one   
immeasurable fist on the polished wood surface of the table, spilling his coffee and inadvertently   
causing a catastrophic earthquake in Turkey. " SHUT UP OR I'LL HAVE YOUR LICENSES   
REVOKED!"  
  
Silence fell over the room like a lead blanket.  
  
"Thank you." He sat down in his chair. "You all may be wondering why I've called you here   
today…"  
  
Gootchie, god of bellybutton lint, brought a fist to his mouth and coughed into it. It sounded   
remarkably like 'Bull.'  
  
Almighty glared at him. "I really wasn't kidding about having your license revoked."  
  
Gootchie looked around. "Did I say anything? Did I insult anyone in any way? Why, I'm sure I   
wouldn't dream of doing such a thing…"  
  
"I'll say." Remarked Morpheus  
  
"Speaking of which," Ra said, giving the god of sleep a funny look. "I seem to remember a   
certain dream last night…something about my mother and a vat of vanilla pudding."  
  
"Eep."  
  
"IF YOU'RE ALL FINISHED!" roared the Almighty.   
  
The gods and various other deities took a look at his face and promptly shut up. Only, of course,   
in a very godlike and dignified way.  
  
"Good. Now, I've noticed that there has been a high level of odd activities going on in Tokyo…"  
  
"And that's different from every day, how?" inquired one of the minor demons.  
  
"They don't usually involve Egyptian spirits," remarked Almighty, glaring at the Egyptian corner   
of the assembly. They cringed.  
  
"Um," began Osiris, "May I note that we had no idea that this happened?"  
  
"Hah!" exclaimed a Dark Magician. "Sure you didn't. Like you had no idea any of us were being   
summoned into the human world by those pharaohs and other various people…"  
  
"Hush!"  
  
At this, Fate burst into tears. "Wasn't my fauuuuuult!" She moaned, "Didn't mean to! Was just   
having," she hiccupped, "Fun! Not my fault they don't stay in their regions!"  
  
Almighty blinked and looked at her.  
  
"How dry I am," she sang, "How wet I'll be…"  
  
And then, quite suddenly, Ra's cell phone started ringing.  
  
And in Yugi's house, Joey stared at the phone. "So…you say that Ra owes you something?"  
  
Yami nodded.   
  
"And I don't suppose I could find out what this something is, or how you came to meet him, or   
even why you know his phone number to begin with?"  
  
"No."  
  
And then, the house was plunged into darkness. And yea, did the skies part and a hand of   
unimaginable size lower itself from the sky and point directly at the window of Yugi Motou's   
house. And the multitudes did stare at the sky and wonder if they had gone drunk.   
  
And then, the hand did emit a loud beeping sound, and emit a sound like that of a female voice,   
and voice said unto Yami, Tea and Joey…  
  
"Hello. You have reached Ra's cell phone number. If you'd like to leave a prayer, please   
prostrate yourself. If you'd like to change your religion, please take nearest sharp object and stick   
it. If you'd like to call in an old favor, please yell: 'I like peachy rabbits', and await further   
reply."  
  
Tea and Joey looked expectantly at Yami. "Well?"  
  
"No way," growled Yami, granting the enormous hand a murderous glare. "There is absolutely no   
way that I am saying that."  
  
"Oh, don't be such a baby. We need someone to sew the outfits, or we'll never win those Exodia   
cards. Now yell it or spend the next few weeks listening to something incredibly cute and girly. I   
know Yami Bakura, and he knows where you live." Tea gave Yami a threatening look.  
  
"…Fine." He cleared his throat. And cleared his throat. And shuffled his feet. Then, he turned   
abruptly around. 'Screw it, I refuse."  
  
Joey grabbed him by his arms, and Tea got into Friendship Speech mode. "Yami," she warned, "I   
swear to whatever God may be listening at this moment that if you do not contact Ra right this   
very moment, I shall talk about friendship for five hours straight. And believe me, I *am*   
capable."  
  
Yami gave a gasp of horror. "You wouldn't."  
  
"Really? You think so?"  
  
"…No." He gave a sigh like that of a ten year old boy faced with a plate of brussels sprouts that   
he know he must eat. "Very well." Steeling himself, he began. "I like…gods, this is   
embarrassing…I LIKE PEACHY RABBITS!"  
  
The hand let out a high pitched beeping sound and the index finger rose. Outside, the whole   
neighborhood wondered whether to be insulted or not.   
  
" Thank you. Connecting you to Ra…" Pleasant music began to play as they waited.   
  
Yami raised an eyebrow. "Wow. He updated."  
  
"Well, it is the 21st century…"  
  
"No, I meant that he used to have heavy metal music."  
  
"Oh."  
  
They stood listening to the music for a while. Finally, the hand emitted yet another high pitched   
beeping sound, followed by a whirring noise, and finally a completely different feminine voice.   
"Hello," it said, "You have reached Ra. You are number four thousand, five hundred and eight.   
Please hold. Your call is very important to us."  
  
People in Northern Alaska were reported to hear a loud, booming noise that sounded oddly like   
three people yelling "WHAT?"  
  
Ra turned his cell phone off as the Almighty and the rest of the higher beings glared at him.   
"Whoops. Always forget to turn the darn thing off. Now, what is it we were talking about?"  
  
The president of the student council was perturbed. He was very, very perturbed. He was in such   
a state of anxiety that he had eaten his pencil and was now starting on the pencil sharpener. True,   
this could also be mistaken for hunger, but that's not the point.  
  
He had come up with a marvelous idea for a fundraiser, had planned it perfectly, had even sent   
out the flyers. He thought long and hard about the events that might take place if the winner was   
not presented with a prize.  
  
"I am so dead."  
  
Later that night, in some very obscure location, Yami Bakura snickered to himself as he put the   
finishing touches on his master invention.  
  
"Yami?"  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I regret to say that I haven't the slightest idea why you're doing this. I mean, what's the point?   
Why all the notes? And especially THIS." He stared at the ten foot high square of cotton candy   
pink metal. On it were printed the words: 'Costume party! Evil scheme! Bring your own plot!   
Love, Yami Bakura. P.S, Map on the back,' in hieroglyphics.  
  
"Don't you *see*, you stupid little mortal? I'm attracting fellow members of the dark side! We   
can't allow the good side to win, in even the slightest battle!"  
  
"Not even in a costume party?"  
  
"Especially not in a costume party. Now, where'd the giant rubber band?" Yami Bakura   
rummaged around the alleyway, knocking aside some pieces of metal and a large, pointy, spiraled   
object.   
  
"And what are you doing with it?"  
  
"I am going to catapult it off towards a cliff side over in that area." Yami Bakura waved a hand   
towards the landscape of the city of Tokyo. Ryou barely smothered an 'Eep.'  
  
"Are you SURE you know what you're doing?"   
  
"Nope."  
  
And with that, Yami Bakura shot the ten foot square of metal into the night.  
In the Kaiba mansion, Seto was getting ready to go to bed after a long, hard day's work at the   
office. He slipped into his pajamas and trudged over to his giant bed. Yes, it was a giant bed,   
because he was rich, and rich people always have giant beds. It is protocol. Anyway, he collapsed   
bonelessly on the starched white sheets and stared at the night sky.  
  
The stars were really beautiful tonight, he thought. Very clear. And the full moon made it very   
bright. He enjoyed the cool night breeze on his skin as he began to drift off to sleep…  
  
Then shot straight up as an idea occurred to him. Night sky? Stars? Cool breeze? He took a deep   
breath.  
  
"WHERE THE HELL IS MY CEILING?" 


	4. The Best Laid Plans Of Gods And Psychos

Seto was displeased. He was quite displeased. He was now missing a small portion of his roof, and a large sheet of metal, with an odd language carved into it, was embedded in a cliff that was part of his expansive property. All in all, it was not a good beginning to a day.  
  
So, in true Seto fashion, he began to channel his rage in the only way he knew how. He went to the renowned 'computer room', locked himself in, and began to do some heavy duty programming, bringing a giant-sized mug of that heavy duty coffee with him.  
  
As he sipped his pure caffeine from the giant mug with the words 'el grande' on the side, he pondered. Ponder is a fancy way of saying 'to think'. It implies that, while he was thinking, he was certainly not doing so in a common, stupid way. No, these were high, deep, meaningful thoughts. Thoughts that, if he wrote them down, could be made into a large book, sold at book stores, and be quoted repeatedly in most English classes.  
  
Wow, words sure are misleading, aren't they?  
  
Anyway, while Seto was stewing over some file compression, Mokuba was up to his daily mischievous act of the day. For you see, Mokuba was a little brother, and everyone knows that little brothers must do one incredibly irritating thing to you before the day reaches an end. If not, they'll be given the pink slip. And I don't mean a tutu.  
  
"Mwahahaha," Mokuba fake-laughed, wringing his hands in what he assumed was evil villain fashion. He adjusted the oversized mad scientist get-up he'd dug out of Seto's closet and leered evilly, staring at smoking vials of kool-aid with dry ice mixed in them.  
  
"Soon, I shall have my revenge!" he cackled. "Mad! They said I was mad! But soon, I shall show them! Mwahaha-" His evil laughter was then cut short by a coughing fit as he inhaled some of the kool-aid and dry ice fumes.  
  
"Sir? Is everything okay in there?" Inquired a passing maid.  
  
"Fine! Everything's fine! Go forth and spread my words of terror!"  
  
"And which would that be, sir?"  
  
"I want macaroni and cheese for lunch! And make it the Velveeta kind. I hate Kraft."  
  
"Right, sir."  
  
"And hot dogs! Make sure you cut them into little pieces and mix them in! Now be gone, minion! Follow my plans, and I won't have you beheaded!"  
  
"As you wish, sir."  
  
The maid jotted down the food order on her notepad, and strolled casually down the hall, carefully ignoring the bouts of coughing and maniacal laughter echoing from Mokuba's room. The staff at the Kaiba mansion had long since gotten used to the little oddities of their young employers. It was all okay, as long as they steered clear of them when they were plotting invasions.  
  
Mokuba turned his attention back to his mad scientist kit. His plans were perfect. They would no doubt succeed. This was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most ingenious plan he had ever come up with. Lifting a smoking vial of green kool-aid, he let forth a maniacal cackle like that of an asthmatic duck.  
  
"Yes!" he cried, "It is time for Operation: Dye Seto's Hair Pink!"  
  
His evil plan announced, he began to pry the ventilation shaft cover off, tucking a different vial of bright pink solution into his belt. "This'll make him sorry he got me the chemistry set instead of that bicycle I wanted."  
  
Meanwhile, in the shadowy depths of the student lounge, the student council president was stewing over his thoughts. He was screwed. He was oh, so utterly screwed. He had promised Exodia cards, and by all that is sugared, he would have to deliver those Exodia cards. The problem was that there were none. No Exodia cards to speak of. In a wild frenzy of self- preservational instinct, he had stormed every card store in the area, including the one belonging to an old man with oddly triangular hair, and none of them had them.  
  
"I am doomed." He announced to the cup of vodka in front of him, cleverly disguised as sprite. When the vodka made no attempt to answer him, he slumped into the overstuffed paisley chair and muttered to himself.  
  
Right on cue, up walked the treasurer, flipping her hair behind her in an overly dramatic way as she approached the president.  
  
"You called for me, sir?" she asked, lowering her voice to a stage whisper, and looking around to see if there were any students spying on this conversation. Her eyes narrowed at a particular boy, who was buying potato chips from the snack machine. At the sight of her stony glare, he gulped and fled to the safety of the library. Satisfied, the treasurer fixed her gaze back on the president.  
  
He gave a funny high-pitched giggle. "You may be wondering why I've called you here today," he started, then caught sight of her outfit. "What the hell are you *wearing*, Molly?" he cried out in dismay.  
  
She plucked at the shiny black pleather trench coat she wore, adjusted her oversized sunglasses. "Do you like it? I bought it at Hot Topic yesterday. I think it sets off my hair."  
  
"Your hair is blue, Molly."  
  
"Yes, don't you like it? She stared at him ingenuously.  
  
"I will choose to ignore that comment. Now, I have called you here for important business reasons-"  
  
"Right. I brought the whipped cream, the maraschino cherries, and a whole bottle of rose-scented bath oil. All you have to do is get everyone out of the pool, and-"  
  
"What in the name of cake are you talking about, woman?" he screeched, staring at her in utter horror.  
  
"Oh. Oh, oops. I mixed you up with my science teacher, sorry."  
  
His mind scarred for life, the president continued. "I held this highly random and secret meeting to let you in on a crucial problem. A problem that may very well topple student government for at least two years."  
  
He was interrupted by a small boy in a waiter's outfit walking by, a towel slung over his shoulder quite professionally. "Chips and soda for the EXTRA SECRET MEETING THAT NO ONE MUST OVERHEAR, sir?"  
  
"Yes, thank you." The president said distractedly, taking a container of Pringles. "Now, about the meeting. Judging by the secrecy and the incredibly brilliant location, I am sure you know by now that this is no average meeting."  
  
A few girls in matching pink outfits strolled by the table, chattering loudly.  
  
"Like, I hear there's this secret meeting going on over there."  
  
"Omigod, that's like, totally cool."  
  
Students from all around the lounge began to gravitate towards the small group, jabbering away.  
  
"Hey, maybe they're talking about spy stuff, for the student government."  
  
"Anthrax! The student government is putting Anthrax in the lockers! All must beware!"  
  
"Shut up, Tristan."  
  
"Hey, I know! Maybe they did something really stupid, like forget to buy prizes for the dance, and are just now trying to go out and get some!"  
  
"Nah, that's way too obvious."  
  
"EXCUSE ME!" roared the president, twitching wildly, "We are trying to have a SECRET MEETING over here!"  
  
"Geez, don't have a domestic bovine, dude." Muttered one of the students, strolling off towards the soda machines. There was a murmur of general assent from the rest of the dissipating crowd.  
  
The president sank into his overstuffed chair, sighing in exasperation. "Right," he said, running hand through his hair, "I have called you here today to discuss an incredibly urgent matter that must be dealt with immediately."  
  
"Oh, yes," replied Molly, "I thought the school cafeteria food was terrible too."  
  
"Well, yes, but that's *not* the issue I was discussing today. The thing I want to tell you is-"  
  
Dramatic music began to play softly in the background as the president began to explain.  
  
"Yes, sir?" Molly asked, in awe of his incredible abilities. The music began to play louder, increasing in tempo as he tried to put his reply in the right words.  
  
"Well." he muttered, finding it hard to think with all the music playing. "Well, you see-" The music reached a crescendo, it's speed at breakneck pace.  
  
"YES?," roared Molly, trying to make herself heard over the music.  
  
"THIS MAY TAKE A WHILE!" screamed the president, fumbling for the off switch on his boombox.  
  
Elsewhere in the wild universe of Yu-Gi-Oh, a lion was busy chasing a young gazelle through the wilds of Africa. An enormous boulder fell from the sky, crushing the lion instantly, and proving that, yes, there was random Disney justice in the world. Written on the rock in Egyptian hieroglyphics were the words: 'Evil scheme in motion in Japan. Bring your own beer. Love, Yami Bakura.'  
  
"You are such an idiot," muttered Ryou accusingly.  
  
"Shut up and drive the plane, hikari."  
  
They flew off, leaving the gazelle to think upon it's fate, and perhaps to realize it's own impending mortality and the fragility of life. But no, it was just a gazelle.  
  
"I am mighty," chanted Yami to himself, eyes glazing over in a futile attempt to deny reality. "I am the pharaoh, I am the king of games, I am the almighty power over all of Egypt-"  
  
"You're in a fabric store," interrupted Tea. "Get over it."  
  
Yami slumped to the ground. "I can not *believe* I am in a fabric store." He muttered.  
  
"Hey!" snapped Tea. "You could just let Yugi have the body for this part, you know! You don't have to be here."  
  
"And let him pick out our costume?" asked Yami in disgust. "No thank you. He'd probably make us be a bunny rabbit or.something disgustingly cute like that."  
  
Inside his soul room, Yugi shook his fist at Yami. "Curse you! Curse you and your vendetta against all things cute!" That said, he continued to have high tea with his teddy bear.  
  
"Right," mumbled Yami.  
  
Suddenly, Joey leapt out from behind a stand displaying multi-colored linens, his entire body wrapped in some kind of black cloth. "Ha! I have learned the ways of the ninja! I am invincible!"  
  
"Looks more like you learned the ways of the extremely dirty mummy," Tea commented.  
  
"You insult my honor, woman! For that, you must die!"  
  
"No I won't!" yelled Tea, striking a pose, "For I have also learned the ways of the ninja!"  
  
"Gasp! Another ninja!" cried Joey in mock horror.  
  
Yami shook his head in exasperation. "I am surrounded by idiots."  
  
"Well excuse me for living, I'm sure." cried Tea, giving Yami an Almighty Glare of Death, unsurpassed even by Seto's.  
  
"Let's look at the fabric." Yami said, fearing the glare.  
  
"I like this one!"  
  
"It's pink, Tea."  
  
"Hey, pink's the new pink."  
  
"What was wrong with the old pink?" asked Yami curiously.  
  
"It was too pink!" Tea exclaimed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
"Of course," Yami replied, lost in the vagaries of the fashion world. "Too pink."  
  
"It's better not to think about it." suggested Joey. "Women know these things. Men do not. Just smile and nod, and all will be well."  
  
There are several invariable rules in the sport of shopping. Men must always carry the bags, which all must come from different stores and have random objects protruding from them. There must be at least one changing room fiasco. And someone must always lose some small object of value. In this case, it was the latter.  
  
"Where's my lucky bottle cap?" cried Yami in despair.  
  
Tea and Joey gave him odd looks.  
  
"You have a lucky bottle cap?" snickered Joey.  
  
"Wanna make something of it?" Yami asked, eyes glowing threateningly.  
  
Joey did an amazing thing. He shut up.  
  
"Right," said Yami, satisfied. "We are not going anywhere until I find that bottle cap. It is my sole friend and my ultimate source of power. You think I won the match with Pegasus using the power of friendship, the heart of the cards, and pure skill? No, it was the bottle cap! Chicks dig me when I have the bottle cap! Without the bottle cap, I am a pathetic shell of a man!"  
  
There was a long silence after Yami's little speech.  
  
"I mean I kept it because I liked the pattern on the top." He said sheepishly.  
  
"That's bottle cap abuse!" shouted a random passerby.  
  
"You disgust me, dude!" yelled the cashier.  
  
"Shut up!" roared Yami. "What do any of you know about the relationship between a man and his bottle cap!"  
  
"All of you shut up!" yelled Tea.  
  
The store quieted instantly.  
  
"Okay," she said, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "FIRST, we are going to find fabric for our costumes. THEN we can find Yami's bottle cap."  
  
"Then can we have lunch?" asked Joey.  
  
"Oh, alright. Then lunch. But only after we get the fabric-"  
  
"And the bottle cap?"  
  
"Well, yes, the bottle cap too."  
  
"Can we have dessert with lunch?"  
  
"Okay, FINE! Costumes, bottle cap, lunch, and then dessert. Anything else?"  
  
"I'd quite like a pony." Yami said quietly.  
  
Tea turned and fixed him with a glare.  
  
"But I'll settle for costumes." He said quickly.  
  
With that, the trio went off to do their sacred duty of collecting material for costumes that they had not yet designed.  
  
And up in the heavens, it was Happy Hour.  
  
Fate giggled drunkenly as she looked down at the unfolding comedy. "Bottle caps." She hiccupped, then took another enormous swig of her tequila, offering the bottle to Ares, who belched loudly and accepted it.  
  
"Oh no," muttered Ra. "Ares is getting drunk. We all know what happens when Ares gets drunk."  
  
"Somebody get Athena!" cried Isis, wringing her hands.  
  
"She's sitting in the corner, her helmet shading her face."  
  
"Crap. Where's the goddess of peace?"  
  
"It's her period."  
  
"Shit."  
  
"Oh god, we're in trouble now."  
  
Elsewhere, on earth, in the Wheeler residence, Serenity paused in the middle of what she was doing.  
  
"Did you hear that?" asked Serenity, staring off into nowhere.  
  
"Hear what?"  
  
"Dramatic music."  
  
"Don't worry. It goes away after a while."  
  
"Alright. No where were we? Ah yes. Darling, let us shag."  
  
'Let's," agreed Tristan, and they both began to knit shag carpets, while eating large bowls of maraschino cherries and whipped cream. 


	5. Dude Where's My Car?

Picture a meeting.  
  
This particular meeting was held in a dilapidated classroom, filled with stacked desks and chairs. It's blackboard, covered with faded chalk marks, bears the words 'Plans For The Restoration of Order To The School Dance, aka, Buying The Prize' Next to it is drawn a large, blobby *thing* that may, in the furthest stretch of the imagination, may be considered to vaguely resemble a pack of Exodia cards. It is pink.  
  
So is the room.  
  
The president of the student council stood in the midst of the pinkness, twitching very slightly, holding a yardstick, which he tapped against the chalkboard, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. He took a step forward, drew himself up in an important fashion and pointed the yardstick in a threatening manner at the treasurer, who simply sat in her cheap plastic chair, looking very unimpressed. She blew a perfectly round bubble of bright purple bubble gum, and simply stared.  
  
He took a breath, suppressed the urge to move his yardstick just a half an inch closer, and began. "We," he began through gritted teeth, "Are utterly doomed."  
  
"I gathered that." Remarked the treasurer, remarkably able to speak coherently through a mouthful of inflated candy. "You've been screaming 'doom' for the past hour. I have a Biology class next, you know. I'm beginning to run out of time to listen to your master scheme."  
  
"It's not a scheme," answered the president darkly, generating his very own cloud of depressing, angsty, Poe-ish atmosphere as he began his explanation, "It's a plot. A brilliant strategy to save our very lives and careers."  
  
The treasurer maintained the enormous bubble gum bubble as she wondered if the word 'brilliant' could ever really be applied to such a neurotic individual. Especially one whose idea of decoration included fuzzy dice and hamster posters. "Right," she said, eying the president warily. "It doesn't involve any dramatic music, does it?"  
  
"No. The boom box broke and anyway we have no tapes that would match the mood." The president steepled his fingers and tried his hardest to look serious and foreboding, a task especially hard, as he hadn't the slightest idea what foreboding meant. "As I have told you, we have no Exodia cards. Therefore, we have no prize for the contest winner. This will result in a very, very angry person and that is not good. Not good at all."  
  
"Couldn't we just make it so that no one would win?" inquired the treasurer tentatively.  
  
"Molly! That would be dishonest and unethical!"  
  
"We are a government."  
  
"Well, that's true." There were a few minutes of brooding silence as the both calculated this. You must take a while to realize that these were the very people who organized and thought up of every school activity. You must also take a moment to realize that in every school, there are people like this and sadly, they are in positions of relative power that they will most likely maintain for the rest of their lives. It a sad and awe-inspiring thought, but there it is.  
  
Finally, the silence was broken by the sound of the president slapping his yardstick firmly onto the cheap wooden table. "No," he said firmly, "it just wouldn't do. If we had no one win, then there would be no point in supplying other prizes, and if there weren't any prizes for the contest, people wouldn't dress up. This would result in chaos and general stupidity, and I get quite enough of that on a daily basis, thank you." He paused and took up his yardstick again. "And in any case, I already thought up a brilliant plan that's just dying to be used."  
  
"Oh, it's dying alright."  
  
"No obscure jokes, please. Anyway, I have drawn a quick mission summary." The president held up a piece of printer paper with a few scrawled lines hastily drawn across its surface. He wielded it with an expression of triumph and utmost joy on his face. He was easily amused.  
  
There was another momentary lull in the 'conversation' as the Treasurer made a valiant effort to decrypt what she thought was a hidden message. Finally, she gave up.  
  
"If you squint and close one eye, it kind of looks like a Scottish terrier," she commented.  
  
He stared at her for a while, then gave a deep sigh, the kind of sigh you hear from people who have been locked away in a cubicle for eight years, and then discover that the coffee machine has run dry. "How did you ever get elected treasurer, anyway?"  
  
"I was the only one running, you know that. And thinking's not my job, anyway."  
  
"Right." He needed a change of subject, and fast. "The Master Plan!" he announced with a faint note of desperation, "I have decided, randomly, with the use of my magic eight ball, that it would be advantageous to send a helper out to assist us in our search for the cards."  
  
"What you mean to say, dear president, is that you need someone to do the dirty work. And if he doesn't get the cards, you can just blame the lack of a prize on him, right?"  
  
"Exactly so, dear Treasurer. And I have chosen just the right person to do this."  
  
"And when you say that," she translated, "You mean that you got out your set of throwing knives, wrote out a bunch of names on a piece of paper, threw a knife, and picked which name the thing landed on, right?"  
  
"You have been doing this a long time, haven't you?"  
  
"Sadly, yes. How can you tell?"  
  
"The hair. Anyways, Fate in her infinitely fickle ways has decided to bestow the honor of seeking the costume dance prize on this individual." He held up a photograph of a young man with pale hair, dark skin, and striking violet eyes. "Transfer student Malik!"  
  
And the dramatic atmosphere was so thick, you'd need a diamond-tipped drill to pervade it.  
  
Elsewhere, in the parking lot of a certain fabric store, our motley crew of would-be costume makers stood, rummaging through their purchases with a determined air. They plucked through the cheap, thin plastic of the bright red bags with a steely glint in their eyes. What they searched for, no one knew. Passers-by were amazed and inspired by the apparent dedication they had to the art of sewing. Finally, Yami raised his head and looked at the other two.  
  
"You mean to tell me that no one bought any buckles?"  
  
"Guess not," Tea answered, lifted what looked to be a yard of patchwork- patterned flannel. "Huh. And here I thought we bought some in the buttons department." The patchwork flannel was thrust back into the back and a few packs of cherry-colored buttons were pulled out and examined thoroughly.  
  
"No, we bought those ducky buttons," Joey answered, dropping his bag next to him on the pavement and watching the yards of different-colored materials spill out of the sack, like intestines from a dissected frog. A bright red dissected frog, but metaphors are hardly ever perfect. "You know, the ones with the little blue bows."  
  
"I never want to get into your mind, Joey." Tea said solemnly. "I might be devoured whole by whatever creature ate your intelligence."  
  
"Huh?" Joey asked intelligently, playing with a small sack of ornamental gemstones. Ornamental gemstones were his secret obsession. He had collected fake jewels ever since he was four, and every now and then he'd take the crate out of his closet, pour the cheap shards of plastic around his room, pretend to swim in them, and then spend at least half an hour afterwards with a Scottish accent and a craving to wear spats. It goes to show you, you never can tell.  
  
"Who cares about the ducky buttons?" Yami interjected furiously, "I NEED the buckles! Nothing I can wear can be buckle-less. It's one of my trademark things. Like short capes and hair dye. I really, really need those buckles."  
  
"Buckle addict."  
  
"I can give them up any time I please!" Yami stated with an insulted air. "I just feel more comfortable with them on." He started to fumble through his bag as he spoke. "And what, pray tell, are we supposed to be?"  
  
"We're the three horsemen of the apocalypse." Tea said this proudly, no small feat when one is holding a few yards of crimson flannel and some pipe cleaners.  
  
There was a momentary lull as Yami worked though this idea.  
  
"By 'horsemen of the apocalypse', you mean 'War, Death, Famine, and Pestilence, am I correct?" Yami asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow at Tea.  
  
"Yes, those are the horsemen I'm referring to."  
  
"The four horsemen of the apocalypse, who foretell the end of the world?"  
  
"That's right."  
  
"Have you noted how I put special emphasis on 'four'?"  
  
"Yes, it's a very nice emphasis, too."  
  
"And it's especially interesting, seeing that we have three people as of now."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Three people."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"To be the four horsemen."  
  
"Correct."  
  
"Am I the only one noticing the slight numerical problem, here?"  
  
Tea fidgeted uncomfortably with her crimson flannel. "I'll confess that I wasn't thinking very well when I chose the costumes," she admitted.  
  
Yami slapped a hand to his forehead and collapsed onto the pavement, looking about ready to tear out chunks of his elaborately dyed and gelled hair. Joey chewed on a tootsie roll in a thoughtful manner. "Wait," he said in the air of one who has made a brilliant discovery, "This can be fixed. All we need to do is find some other guy to be the last horseman."  
  
"Got anyone in mind?" asked Yami mockingly, "Or are you going to pull them out of your pockets? Let me count the people you know. Ryou, who is probably being dragged into some wacky scheme by that ninja-star flinging maniac of a yami he has, Kaiba, who is so out of the picture he's in the next art gallery, Mokuba, who will probably say no just to be annoying, and a large assortment of other random people who are either too old or far too young to be involved."  
  
"What about Tristan?" asked Tea, who had been following Yami's little soliloquy with a vague feeling that she should feel insulted.  
  
"No good." Joey mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate-flavored taffy, "He's away with my sister. He probably won't be available by phone or Internet. They take shag knitting very seriously."  
  
Yami stared. "How seriously?"  
  
"They formed the first and only Olympic shag knitting team, invented several new styles of knitting, and head an online shag carpet fan club."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Joey," Yami said, "I never want to know the intimate details of Tristan and Serenity's relationship ever again."  
  
"Not even the whipped cream?"  
  
Yami gave Joey a killing glare. One of Yami's killing glares was powerful enough to fell an entire pack of cheetahs in mid-leap, a fact he had learned of while on a hunt in Africa. Unfortunately, the glare didn't work on people, but it still looked pretty scary, if you ignored the fact that it looked as though Yami was about to pass out or explode.  
  
Tea shook her head as if to clear any stray thoughts of shag carpet knitting from her mind. "That doesn't matter," she said firmly, "He's going to have to give it up for a while. We need him to be a horseman." She paused. "Friendship demands it!" she declared, and got to her feet, standing proudly. "We will go forth and gather Tristan, and then make costumes!"  
  
"Out of ducky flannel?"  
  
"Out of ducky flannel," she asserted, "The power of our friendship shall overcome all obstacles! Let's go!" She pointed dramatically at the horizon. "Everyone into Joey's car, and we'll get started."  
  
"Hey, I just realized something," Joey said, turning an interesting light mauve color.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I don't have a car."  
  
Elsewhere, in Pegasus's expansive mansion, our favorite one-eyed villain was preparing to kill someone. The whole day in general had not gone well for him. After several meetings with incredibly boring people from some incredibly boring companies, all he wanted to do was drink a cold glass of Pegasus's Famous Fruit Juice , sink into a very large, lavishly upholstered chair, and obsess over his dead wife. But it was not to be. For the mysterious powers that be had decided to involve him in the unfolding drama of the school dance. Life as Maximillion Pegasus knew it was about to take an abrupt left turn in a right turn only lane. Today, it all started with a single phone call.  
  
"What do you mean my car is missing?" Pegasus yelled into the phone. Pegasus was the proud owner of the largest collection of lip-shaped phones in the known universe. In fact, he had bought out the entire company that produced lip-shaped phones. He owned phones in every lipstick shade and tint. The particular phone he was screaming into was a very appealing shade of magenta.  
  
"I mean your car is missing," stuttered Croquet, staring at the empty space that had previously held Pegasus's car. The car had parked in an underground garage, surrounded by the very latest in technology. There were hundreds of alarms surrounding the entrance alone. A complicated maze of lasers and booby traps surrounded the parking spot itself. A single spotlight was mounted on the wall in case of a chase scene, because some standards simply had to be maintained. All in all, the chance of a thief breaking in and stealing the car were close to the chance of a potted plant in a nuclear reactor.  
  
In laymen's terms, not damn likely.  
  
"Allow me to rephrase that question," Pegasus said, resisting the urge to trample his magenta phone underfoot, "HOW is my car missing?"  
  
"I don't know!" Croquet was in a state of panic. This had never happened before. Well, no, that was a lie. It had happened once before, but never on his watch. Now it was *his* fault that the car had been grabbed. He would receive the full might of Pegasus's fury. The last car-watcher had been tortured in such cruel and incredibly unusual ways, he still had trouble breathing and writing at the same time. Not to mention the fact that he had not received his Christmas bonus. "I-I just walked in here, and it was gone! POOF! The car has vanished! It is no more!" He started rambling. Where the hell was a deus ex machina when you needed one? Forget that, where was an actual alcoholic beverage?  
  
"Never mind," came Pegasus's voice over Croquet's phone, which was not an appealing magenta color, "I don't care how it got lost. I don't care why. I want to know why I only have one car."  
  
Croquet opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. The question was devastatingly logical. There simply was no answer. The silence curled around them like smoke from a Cuban cigar.  
  
On the beltway, a couple hundred miles away from Pegasus's little island, a glistening red car was seen zipping through traffic like a very aerodynamic ladybug. It was playing heavy metal music at top volume, it's windows rolled all the way down. At the wheel of the car, a white haired-boy sat, holding a conversation with himself.  
  
"What the heck were you THINKING? You just STOLE Pegasus's car!"  
  
"He challenged me."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Through e-mail."  
  
"What? I didn't see any e-mails from Pegasus!"  
  
"Shut up. It doesn't matter. I was the best tomb robber in all of Egypt. I shall prove myself now as the best thief in the entire world. And then I shall steal the Exodia cards."  
  
"I hate to break it to you, but good thieves don't get caught."  
  
"It was an unlucky streak! I haven't got caught in this, have I?"  
  
"Yet."  
  
"Ryou, you're about three inches from being dangled over a flaming pit surrounded by enormous lava-eating rodents for all of eternity."  
  
"Well, look, I don't see the point of stealing the car."  
  
"I needed a getaway car. Bikes are so infantile. Besides, I can carry my post-its much better this way."  
  
"I give up. Have fun running away from the cops."  
  
"I'm not running away! I'm taking a strategic maneuver in the opposite direction."  
  
"Hah."  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Something in my throat."  
  
"Considering the fact that we're sharing the same body, I would have known if you'd had dust in your throat."  
  
"It was very deceptive dust."  
  
"Shut up.' 


	6. The Magic Of Shag

 There is a saying that all good things come in threes. There is another saying that all bad things come in threes. Finally, someone, tired of being confused by the two conflicting clichés, melded them together into one saying. All things come in threes. This is actually a faulty observation, as all things come in ones, mostly. Especially socks. But once in a while, the statement is proved momentarily true. 

 For, good or bad, three people stood outside Tristan's house, doing their best to look imposing and pleading at the same time. They held their cheap crimson plastic bags aloft with pride, their dusty, bedraggled clothing affecting the image not. No, their physical appearance didn't detract from the atmosphere of heroic deed-doing they gave off. It was the conversation that they were currently having.

"I can't believe you were so out of your mind that you took your dad's car!" Tea raged, "And you didn't even have a driver's license! What on Earth were you thinking?"

"I don't believe I was thinking of anything in particular," admitted Joey sheepishly, 'I thought we'd been through that, actually."

"No, she has a point," Yami admitted. "How anyone, in their right mind or not, could take their father's keys, enter his vehicle, and drive it to two of his friends' houses and the shopping center without remembering about his lack of a driver's license is beyond me."

"I was under a kind of trance," explained Joey earnestly. "Like those Zen minks. They go into a sort of trance in which they forget their settings and the world around them, and concentrate solely on…enlightenment, or something."

"Joey," Tea said, giving him an odd look, "First of all, they're monks, not minks, and secondly, there is no way you'll ever convince me that you were concentrating solely about enlightenment, the meaning of life, or anything actually deep and meaningful."

"Is that really so hard to believe?" He asked, sounding fairly insulted. "I mean, I know I'm not the smartest person in the world…"

Yami snorted. Joey glared at him and continued. "But I _do _think of things other than food and duel monster cards, you know."

"Really," Tea said tartly, "You've been keeping that little fact about yourself very well-hidden."

 "Hey!" Joey snapped, his immensely short temper ignited, "At least I don't go about making stupid little speeches about friendship all the time!"

"What's wrong with friendship? Don't LIKE friendship? Got some kind of GRUDGE against friendship, Mr. Bad-Brooklyn-Accent?" 

"Only against you, Miss Twirling-Ballerina-Klutz!"

"Oh, that's really witty. I can see you certainly have a flair for making interesting comebacks. Why don't you hire yourself out for a line of work that may appreciate your unique talents? Say, the Barney show?"

"Now, you two, I'm sure we can come to some sort of understanding," Yami said, attempting to be a kind of mediator. Unfortunately, while he was quite good at intimidation and utter mastery over opponents, Yami was devastatingly bad at breaking up fights. He wasn't much of a people person, and that really worked against him. His approach to breaking up fights was to simply knock both of the bickerers out, and sort it out with them when they came to. Unfortunately, this was not an open option for him in the case of Joey and Tea, who swiveled as one to face him and blasted the unfortunate pharaoh with angry glares.

"Shut up!" they yelled.

Yami shut up. He was unused to having glares of rage directed at him. He was usually the one to glare. He was quite good at it too, as he lined his eyes with thick mascara to make them look more slanted and imposing. The mascara seemed to be no help against the righteous anger of his two friends, who seemed to be quite ready to tear out each other's throats. The long taxi ride to Tristan's house had not been pleasant for either of them.

"You are just plain annoying!" Joey said, pointing his finger accusingly at Tea, who rolled her eyes.

"And you are an imbecile who can't come up with plans to save his life. Come on, throw another stupid, unoriginal platitude at me, I'm ready."

Joey took a deep breath in preparation of going into full rant mode. "You," he began venomously, "Are a cross-eyed, knobby-kneed, inbred monkey posing as a girl, who deserves to be freely shot at by a team of amateur Terminator wannabes." He paused, trying to think of the very worst thing you could ever say to a female. He fished through the stream of his memories, trying to remember exactly what infuriated the girls on TV. He got a catch. "And, you're FAT."_._

The audience, if there had indeed been an audience, would have been cued to gasp simultaneously. One could almost feel the dramatic tension, sparking and fizzing between the two, like demented roman candles. Everyone knows what happens in an argument of this scale. The tension either becomes romantic passion, or two friendships are tragically ended, cut with the sharp blade of sarcasm.

Joey stood there, giving her a look of satisfaction. _Beat THAT_

Tea did indeed look like she was about to beat something. Namely, Joey's head, along with other delicate parts of his anatomy. Her mouth opened and closed as she did an excellent impression of a landed fish. She pointed her finger at him, still wordlessly mouthing unknown curses, her face turning a brilliant crimson.

Yami had the odd and completely inappropriate urge to find a timer.

Finally, Tea regained her ability of speech. "Joey Wheeler," she hissed, the sound of her voice causing both males to take one step back and prepare to flee, "You are a _horrible_ excuse for a human being, and I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU ANYMORE!" She screamed the last word right in Joey's, and consequently, Yami's ears, turned on her heel, and stared fixedly at the sky. 

 It was at this moment that Tristan opened the door, brandishing a large bowl of cherries and whipped cream. "Oh," he said pleasantly, "It's you. Would you care for a cherry?"

 In the student government room, a meeting was about to begin. A meeting that could mean the end of school management as anyone knew it, or a triumphant giving of prizes. The future teetered precariously, depending entirely on the whim of one individual. 

 Malik gave the student council president an intense stare. This was not an incredibly hard thing to achieve, since Malik had rather intense eyes. They were a vivid purple, and about an inch and a half away from insanity. Those eyes seemed to stare right through your soul.

 In actuality, Malik was fixing his gaze just beyond the president, and at the pink-painted wall. In all his life, he had never seen such terrible taste in decorations. The hamster poster that lingered directly over the president's head, like a brightly-colored, tacky cloud, gave Malik the odd inclination to run away in abject terror. Hamsters should not be smiling cheerfully while dancing on their forelegs. It was against the laws of nature, and was just plain wrong.

The president, under the impression that Malik was focusing his eerily powerful stare at him, began to outline his plan. "Um," he started, withering under the power of the violet eyes, "Um. So, um." He announced intelligently.

"Why is there a hamster poster on this wall?" Asked Malik abruptly.

"I like hamsters." 

"It displeases me." Malik stated firmly, crossing his arms.

"You don't like hamsters?" the president ventured, glad for any kind of conversation.

"Hamsters are fine. As far as small, furry rodents go, they are quite tolerable. The problem with this poster is the expression on this hamster's face. It is grinning. And holding a pinwheel lollipop. Hamsters don't go about doing that kind of thing." Malik continued his lengthy diatribe about the habits of domestic rodents. "They also do not dance around wearing tutus. I defy anyone to fit any clothing on a hamster. It would bite your finger off before you even finished putting socks on it.  I mean, I've lived underground for most of my life and even I know that."

"You certainly have quite a tan for someone who's lived underground for most of his life."

Malik gave the president a condescending glare. "That's not the point."

The president was aware of that fact. The point, it seemed, was wandering far away, and was about to take the bus. "You may have been wondering why I've called you here today,' the president tried, gladly grasping onto the traditional start of a businesslike conversation.

"No." 

"Pardon?"

"No. I wasn't exactly wondering why you called me to this disgustingly decorated room, Mr. President. I've been told that you are slightly batty, as is the case with most people in positions of power. I am under the impression, however, that you have a scheme of some sort you'd like to discuss with me."

"Er, yes."  The president felt lost and adrift on an endless sea of uncertainty. Nothing was going the way it was supposed to. He was supposed to be calm, composed, and slightly impressive as he stood in his cheap school-bought chair, outlining his master scheme. He was most certainly not supposed to be gibbering like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "Yes," he began again, more confidently, "A plan that involves you."

Malik raised an eyebrow.

"We of the student council have chosen you to be most suitable for the plan we are carrying out. Your mission is to locate a set of Exodia cards, using any means necessary, and bring them back to the school before the costume dance on Friday."

"_Any_ means necessary?" Malik asked. The gleam in his eyes would have caused any hardened criminal to run for the hills after writing up a very detailed will.

The president, however, noticed it not. "Yes. Any means necessary. We will, of course, reward you for your efforts and service to the school."

"That's alright," Malik stated distractedly, "I've already got a t-shirt. You mean, any means necessary, right? You're giving me carte blanche on this?"

A tiny bit of apprehension flashed a fin. The president wasn't aware of the definition of carte blanche, but the way Malik said it made it sound dangerous.  "We expect you to have some self-restraint, of course," he affirmed, "For instance, killing is not allowed. Any felony at all is not allowed." 

"Of course not." Said Malik, the very picture of innocence.

"Excellent. Well then, we are equipping you with the Driver's Ed car, to aid you with your searching. Please do not abuse the driver, he wasn't easy to come by. Here is a credit card, a map with all the duel monster card-selling stores marked out, and a pair of fuzzy dice to hang from the rearview mirror. I wish you good luck."

In response, Malik flashed a smile that would make a shark envious. It seemed that this week would be an enjoyable one after all.

 Elsewhere, in the Kaiba mansion, Mokuba was busy getting utterly lost in the ventilation system. It was his seventh attempt at breaking into Seto's bathroom, and so far he'd gotten two guest bedrooms, one torture chamber, a kitchen placed very randomly on the third floor, and three rooms of unknown purpose.

"Should've got the blueprints," Mokuba muttered under his breath and continued his way across endless feet of metal piping, trying not to disturb the occupants of the rooms beneath him in the off-chance that he took a lucky turn and ended up directly over Seto's bathroom. 

 Not that the caution would have done him any good, seeing that Seto had taken his shower already. Showering was a particularly stressful occasion for him, as it involved the removal of hidden cameras from various nooks and crannies of the expansive bathroom. He had learned his lesson the first time pictures of him, devoid of clothing, had appeared on multiple fan sites around the web. Along with this, he was forced to check around the bathroom to make sure no fan girls or reporters were hiding themselves in his cabinets, secure the area to prevent any assassination attempts, and inform his bodyguards to go on Code Aqua.

  At the moment, his daily rituals complete, Seto Kaiba was busy in his limo, attempting to open a bottle of sparkling cider without a bottle-opener. The cork was a very stubborn one. It seemed to quite enjoy it's life, wedged into a circular hole of glass above an endless ocean of carbonation and apple juice, and was having none of Seto's attempts to liberate it from it's prison.

"Damn…stubborn…thing!" Seto muttered, prying at the cork, which stubbornly resisted his efforts.

"Indeed." Agreed the chauffer.

"Don't 'indeed' me." Seto said peevishly, "It makes you sound British."

"I am British, sir."

"All the more reason then." 

"May I enquire as to where Master Kaiba would like to go?"

"Hm?" Seto asked, still preoccupied with the problem of extracting the cork.

"The designated drop-off point, sir." The chauffer replied with bottomless patience.

 "We're headed for the high school," Seto explained. "I'm performing my charitable act of the month."

"And what would that be sir?" The chauffer asked, hoping that it had nothing to do with a mass dog-walking parade. The dog hair had been immediately drawn to any white surface in the surrounding area, and the Kaiba mansion had quite a number of white surfaces.

"I'm funding a school dance. The student council seems to be extremely excited about it."

"Ah."

"It's a masquerade. I suppose I shall have to attend, so on the way back home I would like you to stop at a costume store."

"Yes, sir." The chauffer, who was named Jeeves by some sort of natural law, made an effort to picture Seto in any kind of costume. The only thing that kept popping up was the unsettling image of Master Kaiba wearing black leather and leering in a completely uncharacteristic way. Mental Seto clenched a rose between his teeth and began to dance.

"Exactly what kind of costume did you have in mind, sir?"

"I believe the costume of choice would be a tuxedo, a black cape, and a mask."

Jeeves, who had two daughters obsessed with Sailor Moon, forbore comment. The dancing Seto Kaiba in his mind removed the rose from his mouth, donned a cape, and began to mouth 'In the name of Justice' repeatedly. Jeeves made some kind of funny coughing sound, and focused his attention on the hood ornament. "Yes, sir. I know of several places that carry such…apparel."

"Excellent. Also, do you have any idea what the odd clanking noises in the ventilation system where?"

"I haven't the slightest."

"A few of our maids seem to have seen a black-clad figure popping its head into rooms around the house. If it is another insane person out to steal my personal belongings, I'm afraid I won't be responsible for my actions."

"Perhaps it's a mouse."

"It would have to be an extremely large mouse then, and I don't believe Mokuba has been successful enough with his endeavors at chemistry to achieve such a result."

"Why do you have that old-fashioned ventilation system, anyway? Wouldn't it be easier to update it to something else?"

"Jeeves," snapped Seto, "Some policies must be kept! What would happen if a maniac broke into my house and locked people in their rooms? How would they escape? How would the maniac maneuver through the house, if not for the conveniently placed vents? Please do not consider that option ever again."

"Yes, sir."

"Just drive the limo." At that, the cork popped out of the glass bottle, and hit Seto right between the eyes. The bottle sprayed sparkling cider everywhere in the immediate vicinity as Seto cursed at the newly emancipated cork and the chauffer attempted to keep a straight face.

In a room coated entirely in shag carpeting, an impromptu meeting was being held.

"Let's go over this again," Tristan said slowly, "You three are competing in the costume dance contest. You are going to be horsemen of the apocalypse, but you are missing one member. Therefore, you want me to give up my practice for the Olympic shag-knitting competition-"

He was cut off by a choked whimper from Yami, who muttered something that sounded like "Oh, Ra."

"The Olympic shag knitting competition," Tristan repeated, raising his voice slightly, "Which I am _very_ proud to be a part of, and not insecure about at all. You want me to give up my plans for the sake of dressing up like an idiot and going off to win cards for Yugi." 

"Friendship demands it." Tea said, crossing her arms and giving Tristan a look that told him if he even tried to protest, he would be tortured in unspeakable ways. 

"Well, that's great for friendship. But I have a rug to finish."

"Oh, I can finish it, dear." Serenity interrupted, "You only have about a third of it to go." Her voice was infused with a blend of pure adoration and mad cheerfulness.

"Oh, I couldn't put you through such trouble, darling." Tristan protested, taking Serenity's hands in his and gazing at her lovingly. A corner of her mouth twitched downwards, almost imperceptibly. 

"But I will enjoy every minute of it, love." Serenity insisted, leaning forward and giving Tristan a look of heartfelt longing. "With every move of the knitting needle, I shall think of you." She gave his hands a  slightly tighter squeeze than was necessary.

"But I don't want to tax your delicate hands with such work, on top of your own. Think of the blisters you will get!"

On the couch, Tea, Joey, and Yami watched with fascinated horror.

"To love is pain," Serenity replied sweetly. "It will be sweet agony." She smiled fixedly at Tristan.

"No," Tristan replied, also smiling fixedly, "I'm afraid I am selfish and must protest at forcing this work upon you."

"And I said I would gladly take it, darling."

"No, you won't, dear."

"You try and stop me, sugar pie."

"Bring it on, love of my life."

"Gladly, _precious_."

"Break a leg, _honey."_

"Oh for the love of RA!" yelled Yami, "Just get a damn room and get over it!"

"Shut up!" Tristan and Serenity yelled, and Yami was given death glares for the second time that day. He shrunk back, unused to the situation. 

"Fine," he said peevishly. "I'll come back when everyone is actually sane."

"Oh yeah," said Tea sarcastically. "I can definitely see that happening some time soon."

Yami gave her a swift glare. "I'm going to remember that." 

"That's a nice change of pace."

Yami opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. "Grrr!" He announced to the world in general, and then promptly pulled a disappearing act in a flash of golden light.  To any strangers watching, it would seem as though he had shrunk and lost quite a bit of his hair dye. Fortunately, no strangers were looking in, so Yugi was once again safe from any tabloids. 

 He blinked a few times, his hand outstretched as though he had been holding something in it. "Oh, for goodness sakes!" he snapped, dropping his hand and crossing his arms petulantly. "Is it too much to ask to get an uninterrupted hour of television? I was just about to see the season finale of As The Spinning Wheel Turns! Now I'll never know if Arnold is Terry's illegitimate son!"

Everyone took a moment to give Yugi a wary glance.

He seemed to take in his surroundings and flushed. "I mean that I was playing chess," he corrected quietly.

Joey nodded slowly. "Uh-huh."

"Anyway!" interjected Tristan, exasperated with the complete randomness of the situation, "I would rather not join your motley crew of costume-makers, thank you very much."

"Hey!" Snapped Joey. "Watch who you're calling motley!"  
  


"Please inform the moron that motley just mean mixed or contrasting. It's not an insult _per se._" Tea said, haughtily addressing the thin air.

"Whaddya mean by 'per se'?" Joey asked her, eyeing her suspiciously. "And who are you calling a moron?"

"Please inform the moron that I am calling him a morn, and per se means 'as such'. If *someone* actually took the time to listen to the teacher instead of reading comics, I'm sure he would know this." Tea replied.

"What's with them?" Yugi inquired, gesturing at Tea and Joey, who were glaring threateningly at the nearby scenery, and completely ignoring one another. Tristan and Serenity shrugged, their previous squabble forgotten.

 "Yugi, the boy who will now be referred to as The Moron insulted me. Therefore, he broke the holy bonds of friendship and I won't lower myself by speaking with him in any way." Tea explained, granting Joey a poisonous scowl. 

"Ditto." Joey said, crossing his arms and turning his head.

"I'm sorry guys, but this will probably make the entire plan quite difficult. I'm pretty sure we're going to have to have some form of communication." Yugi felt like screaming and challenging someone to a particularly dangerous game of cards. He left for a couple hours, and everything started falling apart. He'd have to discuss people skills with Yami. Or the lack thereof.

Silence from Tea and Joey, who seemed temporarily lost in their little world of hostility. Yugi could feel the negative energy emanating from them in waves. It contrasted shockingly with the pink surface of the couch they sat on, creating an odd atmosphere, like Poe mixed with Disney.

Yugi paused as a thought came to mind. "Hey. What are we going as?"

"The horsemen of the apocalypse," Tea announced, enthusiasm returning to her voice. "Tristan has agreed to be the fourth-"

"I have _not._" Snapped Tristan vehemently. 

"Yes, he has." Serenity interrupted, giving her object of affection a gaze that was both loving and terribly menacing. " 

 Serenity had spent one too many days in that small, charmingly decorated house, and had plans to go off to some small, cheerfully decorated bar and get completely inebriated. Being drunk was one thing she had not experienced yet, and she found herself intensely, fatally curious as to how it would be like. Unfortunately, she had been far too busy knitting countless shag rugs for the upcoming rug Olympics to indulge in recreational activities. She saw this dance party as a gift from above. Now if only Tristan would cooperate.

"No," Her stubborn boyfriend was saying, "No, absolutely not. I refuse."

And with that, a ninja star crashed through the window, cut off a miniscule amount of Yugi's magnificent hairdo, and buried itself in Tristan's wall. 


	7. Yami Bakura Finds A Plot

There are times when a profound lack of response is more striking than even the most colossal explosion of sound. This was one of those times.  
  
In Tristan's living room, there was a tidal wave of silence as Tristan stared, slightly twitching, at the ninja star half-buried in one of his rugs. No one moved, seemingly afraid that he might snap and go into a frenzy at the slightest hint of motion. The ninja star gleamed purposefully.  
  
Tristan reached out and plucked the ninja star from the rug. "That was my favorite rug," he said quietly, deadly ire vibrating in his voice. "It took me ten days to knit this rug. I made the pattern myself."  
  
As one, the group turned their heads to survey the damage. The favorite rug now sported a clean slash right in the center of its pale blue center. The pink note, no longer being pinned up by the star, fluttered lightly to the ground as Tristan gazed upon the injustice done to his shag carpet. His soul called out for vengeance upon the one who dared to harm his carpentry. His eyes blazed with silent rage.  
  
Yugi watched him pick up the note stiffly, and turned to look at Tea worriedly. She shook her head and muttered. "Yami Bakura is going to die."  
  
"He's hit one too many walls with a random oriental weapon," Yugi agreed solemnly, his detached lock of hair in his hand. Yami Bakura was also going to have to pay his hairdresser.  
  
Meanwhile, Tristan had unfolded the pink note and was staring at it. "Your shag rugs suck. Mwahahahaha. Ha. Love, Yami Bakura." He read in funereal tones.  
  
Serenity decided that now might be a good idea to go to the kitchen, lock the door, and have a nice cup of tea. Yugi, Tea, and Joey stared at the offending slip of paper in morbid fascination. A vein twitched on Tristan's forehead as he read the postscript.  
  
"I will win the costume contest, and rule the world. Take that, carpet boy!"  
  
Silence reigned over the living room as the scrap of rose-colored paper wafted gently to the floor. The ninja star followed with a metallic 'ping'. Tristan stared at the wall in front of him, a slightly detached expression on his face as he stared solidly at the maimed shag carpet.  
  
In life, there are passengers and there are drivers. There are people who hitchhike on the side of the road, holding poorly-written signs, and there are people who own the expensive cars that soak the aforementioned hitchhikers with muddy water. Tristan was, in fact, a born designated driver. Nature is a very wise omnipotent force, and she knew that somehow these stupid humans would create some intoxicating beverage that would result in their losing any intelligence they had a claim to. With that same logic, it stood to reason that they'd create vehicles to allow them to obtain the beverage conveniently. And since Mother Nature is a soft-hearted godlike force, she did not want any of her creatures needlessly and idiotically killed. She created designated drivers, people who were always utterly sober, because they were too boring to be anything more. At the end of the day, the world needs people to clean up the vomit and direct brilliant, wobbling individuals to the steps of their home.  
  
But there are times when even the most sober, inoffensive person snaps. Yami Bakura had crossed the line. He had placed the straw on the camel's back. He had overstepped his boundaries. He had insulted...the shag.  
  
From somewhere deep inside Tristan, a lion's head burst through a piece of red-painted canvas and roared.  
  
"Serenity, the ire has entered my soul." He uttered solemnly.  
  
"We have medicine for that, dear." She exclaimed hurriedly, rushing out of the kitchen.  
  
'Not the iron, the ire."  
  
"What's that again?"  
  
"Ire means rage, fury, or indignation."  
  
"Which one has entered your soul, dear?"  
  
"Rage. I think I'll go with rage."  
  
Serenity vaguely remembered the last time Tristan had become enraged. The scorch marks had yet to be removed from the bathroom walls. "Perhaps you would like to take a walk?" she suggested.  
  
"In his state?" asked Yugi, "Think of the poor defenseless trees and shrubbery!"  
  
Tristan seemed to stare thoughtfully off into the distance, channeling the spirits of long gone anime heroes as he stood there attempting to look heroic in his jeans and yellow Woodstock tee shirt. Tea inched away slightly.  
  
"I have an idea." he said thoughtfully as the others cringed in semi- awareness of what was to come. When ideas and Tristan collided, calamity ensued. "I shall go to the costume party with you. There, I will no doubt encounter Yami Bakura, and he will feel my wrath. He will taste shag carpet." If Tristan was a villain, he would have punctuated that sentence with a wild, maniacal cackle. As it was, he just gave a short, eerie chuckle and removed the rug from the wall, a frightening gleam in his eye.  
  
Everyone else in the room unconsciously withdrew from him. There was something about the look in his eye that wasn't quite sane.  
  
"Well, that's settled then." Tea stated. "Now there's only one thing we need to do."  
  
"Sign up for the contest?"  
  
"Make the costumes?"  
  
"Find a way to get home?"  
  
"No. We must find out which of us is going to be which horseman."  
  
"I want to be Death." Yugi announced.  
  
"..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I can see that this might take a while."  
  
"Would anyone care for tea?" Serenity asked from the kitchen.  
  
In the student council discussion room, the president sat, addressing his newly acquired staff. A large coffee mug was sitting directly in front of him, the contents steaming and giving off an oddly nutty fragrance. There was a hamster emblazoned on it's front.  
  
"And so," the president announced solemnly, "The task of retrieving the prize has begun. It is a dark and troubled time for the student government. We have entrusted our future in the hands of an oddly tan foreign kid with intensely purple eyes. Let us take a moment of silence to fully appreciate this dilemma."  
  
Silence reigned supreme for all of five minutes. The coffee mug steamed silently, and the hamster sticker stared at the occupants of the cheap , square folding table. The president had previously attempted to purchase a round table, but that notion was declared a health hazard. No one knew why.  
  
"As you can see, this will be very trying for our blood pressures." The president said at last. "But I have trust in Mr. Ishtar, and I believe he will return with the necessary items."  
  
More silence from the residents of the room.  
  
"I know it seems like an improbability, but stranger things have happened. Like Molly's new cotton candy flavor at the last science fair. I think it may have blown up a section of the gymnasium."  
  
Silence.  
  
"No, I won't hear any negative comments on this particular venture," he stated firmly, "I believe this was a wise decision."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Well, I'd like to see YOU! Do better!"  
  
Silence.  
  
"DON'T TALK BACK TO ME! I remind you, I am STILL president!"  
  
Yet more silence.  
  
"And what did you mean by that remark? Alright, that's it. From this moment on, you are officially off of my cabinet. Let that be a lesson to the rest of you mindless peons. Objections? Comments? Anything? No? Well, then. On to the next order of business. All in favor of installing a new snack machine in the cafeteria, vote positively."  
  
No one moved.  
  
"Oh, for goodness sake." The president shook the table fiercely.  
  
Simultaneously, the bobble-head dolls lined up around the table busily nodded their heads in favor.  
  
The little red car zipped merrily along the freeway. The driver of the sporty little vehicle was in the middle of a good maniacal cackle, a bottle of fruit juice in his hand. His expression changed as he spoke to himself, earning him some stares from other drivers.  
  
"Admit it. All you really wanted to do was ruin Yugi's hair."  
  
"Why, I'm offended and shocked. How can you suggest that I would be so immature as to indulge in destruction of property just to indulge in a petty, albeit highly amusing joke?"  
  
"I'm waiting for another maniacal cackle to punctuate that sentence."  
  
Yami Bakura obliged.  
  
"What is with that, anyway?"  
  
"What's with what?"  
  
"All villains have some sort of odd proclivity to cackle evilly at things that have no real humor."  
  
"Hey, I thought this was pretty funny."  
  
"Well, of course you did. You're the mad, cackling evil guy."  
  
"I'm not evil. I'm chaotic neutral."  
  
"Since when have you been neutral?"  
  
"Since forever. I can be whatever I damn well please. I mean, I help out either side depending on my own personal, hidden goals."  
  
"Not exactly hidden, seeing that you like to spout them out to whatever victim you're currently terrorizing."  
  
"Ryou, you're lawful good. You just wouldn't understand."  
  
"Lawful good? Who have you been talking to? Where are all these random phrases coming from?"  
  
"I have D&D on Friday evenings. I find it very interesting, and a pleasant way to pass time. It has also given me some excellent strategies for my next evil scheme."  
  
"Don't you mean your next chaotic neutral scheme?"  
  
"Ryou, you are being facetious, and that displeases me. Kindly go to your soul room and leave me alone."  
  
"I can't believe you play Dungeons and Dragons. What, do you read fantasy novels and wear black t-shirts with humorously witty sayings scrawled across them, too? What's your character, anyway?"  
  
"I'm a barbarian, if you must know."  
  
"What, a barbarian? Like, with fur loincloths and messy hair and giant swords?"  
  
"Ryou..."  
  
"One of those scantily-clad warrior types? With bone necklaces and dramatic speeches and all that?"  
  
"His name is Joey."  
  
"That's almost unnecessarily cruel."  
  
"I also play a dwarf."  
  
"Oh no..."  
  
"His name is Yugi."  
  
"You're a real jerk, did you know that?"  
  
"Toss yourself in a shallow lake, Ryou."  
  
"A shallow lake?"  
  
"So you will break your neck in the process. That's a quick, relatively painless death. At least compared to drowning."  
  
"How uncharacteristically generous of you."  
  
"Yes, Ryou, I noticed. I believe your constant, unwavering, and annoying presence has been an unpleasant influence on my character. I find myself doing all sorts of good deeds."  
  
"Good deeds such as?"  
  
"Please note that I could have killed Pegasus's guard dogs in cruel, unusual ways."  
  
"...And instead you simply tied them all together in an unending, cyclic 'chase-the-tail' game?"  
  
"Indeed. It will provide hours of fun for the imprisoned dogs. It is a terrible thing to have a fondness for animals, Ryou. How do you even stand it?"  
  
"I take a glass of orange juice every morning."  
  
"Citrus controls these overwhelming urges of warmth and fluffiness?"  
  
"Oh, it controls many things."  
  
"Was that a bit of sarcasm there, Ryou?"  
  
"Certainly not. You know very well that I have no grasp of sarcasm."  
  
"Excellent."  
  
"I have a bit of a question for you."  
  
"I'm not pulling over for donuts."  
  
"Not that," Ryou waved a hand impatiently, "I want to know exactly what you think you're doing."  
  
"I," Yami Bakura recited dutifully, "Am on a quest to retrieve all of the millennium items so that I may control the world. In-"  
  
"I know that." He said quickly, cutting off Yami Bakura before the fanatical rambling began, "What I want to know is how exactly you are going to do this, using the pink notes and this car. You originally said we were entering the contest, but we don't even have a costume, and we haven't entered. All you've been doing so far is zipping busily around, pinning ninja stars to people's walls."  
  
Yami Bakura lapsed into silence.  
  
"Amazing!" Ryou cried, "You put absolutely no thought into this, did you? You probably just woke up in the morning and somehow thought you could make this work, without any effort at all."  
  
"Silence, Ryou. I am pondering."  
  
"Oh, I see. Pondering. Of course."  
  
"Ryou?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"How does one go about applying for a costume contest?"  
  
"Well, they generally go to the school, and talk to whoever's heading the thing. This would be the student president."  
  
"Ah."  
  
More silence.  
  
"Ryou?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What exactly is a 'costume'?"  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Author's Note: Okay, I know you all probably want to disembowel me with some sort of sharp, pointy instrument. I apologize for the astonishing lack of updates. There were extenuating circumstances that I can't go into, but I think I'm okay to write some more of this. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. 


End file.
